In Love, In Fear, In Hate, In Tears
by CorvusCorvidae
Summary: Quinn's nights of insomnia are filled with music and the alluring voice of one Rosario Cruz. AU.
1. Chapter 1

*0*0*

In Love, In Fear, In Hate, In Tears

*0*0*

At exactly 1:58 a.m., you would begin to untangle your headphones, and by 1:59, you were laying back on your bed, with them plugged into your phone, waiting. Her voice would welcome you to the airwaves at 2:00, and from then on out, you'd let yourself just indulge in the music.

Okay, so you weren't actually listening for the music, even if it was pretty good, but for her. You didn't even know her name, which sounded crazy when you said it like that, but it felt like you knew her anyway. And sure, that brief stink of that psychology class last semester taught you all about how fetishes and stalking started, but this wasn't it. It wasn't.

There was nothing rational about this, you realised, but somehow, in the loneliness of moving to a new state, to a new city, to a new world from what it felt like, you had tried to find comfort, and you found it in Rosario Cruz; which was most definitely an alias.

She was on the campus radio station, hosting the 2am until 6am slot, her voice warm and comforting, with a hint of sharpness when she read the somewhat offensive messages posted on the station's Facebook page. It didn't seem to bother her, as her next song was usually a fuck you to the asswipe that wrote it in the first place, before returning to regular programming. But it showed you that she wasn't all smooth and seductive.

There were barbs on this rose.

But back to the point; she mostly plays 70s, 80s and 90s classics, with the occasional Amy Winehouse thrown in for good measure, and you could tell what mood she was in by the start of her set. When it was Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart, and her sombre voice welcoming you to her night ahead, you knew someone somewhere had just broken her heart; and when she welcomed you with an almost silent chuckle before bouncing into Katrina & the Waves' Walking on Sunshine, you knew she was in a particularly chipper mood.

She made your insomnia bearable, and on the nights you really couldn't sleep, you'd just lie back on your bed, headphones in, and listen; like you were tonight.

She had become a comfort, a part of what was making college life so great, and you didn't know how to explain that. Some stranger was making you feel alive, making you feel something, when you were pretty sure life was making you cold and numb.

Whether she meant to or not, _Rosario Cruz_ was making you happy, keeping you sane, and allowing you to crack a smile in the darkness of your room while your roommate slept soundly several feet away.

You didn't know her name either, and nor did you care to find out, Chrissy or Cassie or Cady something, you didn't know. She didn't like you, like most people there, and you tried not to let it get to you. College was going to be different from high school, that's what everyone said, and everyone was right.

High school had you ruling the school, college had you hiding in your dorm on Friday nights and feeling like you were lost at sea. Strangers, there were strangers everywhere, and you couldn't seem to approach them, you couldn't seem to break into their little cliques or even manage a hello.

Somewhere along the way, you had lost Quinn Fabray, and become this shell. Maybe it was the accident, the nightmares of the crash still haunted you, the pain of the metal crushing into your body still woke you, and no quick fix existed to cure all your problems.

Except the two to six a.m. set with Rosario Cruz and the music that spoke to you on some kind of spiritual level. That was nothing new, Glee Club had woken you to the wonders of music, but this was different. This felt like therapy, good therapy, and you were constantly in need of more sessions.

The only problem in all this was that within four hours, it was gone, and you were exhausted, and sleep never came easy. The music remained in your mind, washing over you and keeping you sane, but it wasn't enough.

And tonight, just as you were beginning to feel _normal_, your roommate's obnoxious alarm clock harshly broke your bubble and reminded you of the time: 5:55 a.m. You knew it was almost over, you knew your sanity, your anchor, was about to go. And then she spoke, ending it for tonight, until tomorrow.

"Alright, it's been a pleasure talking with you tonight," Rosario began, still sounding as upbeat as she had at the beginning of her set. "That's me almost done, just time for one more song." You hoped it was a good one, you needed it to be a good one. You'd have it on repeat until tomorrow, so it needed to be worth the honour of being the last played.

"Have a good night everyone, and to the ghost of Grace Kelly who I saw in the quad today, this one's for you." There was no more, Rosario was off, and the familiar sounds of James' Sit Down Next to Me began to play, and you could feel yourself responding in kind to it, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, gooseflesh on your arms, and a chill up your spine.

This was for the loneliest, the lost, and the ghost of Grace Kelly, apparently; but it hit you, it pulled you up from the bottom of the ocean floor, driving you towards a breath, pulling you back to life, and maybe tomorrow wasn't going to be as bad as you thought.

_Those who feel the breath of sadness_

_Sit down next to me_

_Those who find they're touched by madness_

_Sit down next to me_

_Those who find themselves ridiculous_

_Sit down next to me_

*0*0*


	2. Chapter 2

*0*0*

In Love, In Fear, In Hate, In Tears

*0*0*

Tomorrow wasn't what you hoped it would be. You were tired, and you could feel the exhaustion right in your bones. Every muscle ached and every movement was requiring more energy than you had to give. You needed to sleep. You desperately needed to sleep. But that wasn't possible, not while your roommate had her friends in the dorm room discussing some guy in their Chemistry 101.

Their inane chatter pushed you from the room, with your bag of books to possibly provide you some distraction, and the library calling your name. It was solace, a small one, being tucked away behind the bookshelves and out of sight. No one thought anything of someone studying alone, no one did a double take or gave a quizzical look, and it allowed you to blend in.

Your lack of sleep made you paranoid that someone out there knew how lonely you were, made you wonder if you had this big X on your back saying what a loser you were, and it meant you needed to do everything in your power to hide from the masses that might see it.

Maybe when you got some proper sleep you'd feel less like an outcast. Maybe when you got some proper sleep it wouldn't matter what people thought. Maybe when you got some proper sleep you'd wake up to find this was all just one nightmare and real life was truly about to start. Maybe you'd finally gone and lost your mind.

Pulling your books out your bag, once at a table away from the rest of those in the library, you gave the appearance of one about to study. But the weight of your eyelids was unlike that you'd experienced in a while, and if you propped this book that way then no one would be able to tell you were sleeping. So, you relented, and finally, _finally_, you fell asleep.

It was exactly what you needed, but as you were in a public place, it wasn't destined to last.

"Should we wake her?" a male voice asked, pulling you from your sleep. You were face down, your head on your arms, eyes hidden from sight, but they were still so heavy you couldn't be bothered opening them.

"Would you want to be woken?" a female voice then asked, and God, you hoped this was a dream.

"No, but this place gets busy after six and someone might draw on her face or something," the guy replied, and you wondered if you just lay there long enough would they leave you alone.

"That's your biggest concern? Not that her stuff could be taken?"

"Would you want to wake from a nap to find a penis on your forehead, and have no one tell you about it?" That wasn't something you wanted, and apparently neither did this guy's female friend.

"Of course not, but I'm not stupid enough to fall asleep in the library." You wanted to groan in frustration, because you weren't stupid, you were an insomniac, and you were also addicted to some stupid radio show that ruined your sleep, but groaning would mean alerting them that you were awake, and you didn't want to do that.

"Please, you practically lived here last year," the guy grumbled in return.

"I'm still not waking her."

"Fine, I'll wake her then." Rather than have some strange guy touch you or something as equally as awful, you put one hand up to stop him.

"You don't need to wake me, but thanks," you groaned out, deciding it best to let them know you were awake. Though, when you looked up, it wasn't a they, but a he, as only one person stood before you.

You hadn't heard the girl leave, and looking round the library, you saw no one but the guy. Taking the time to adjust your eyes to the lights, you looked back up, realising you'd completely missed what the guy had said.

"Sorry?" you asked, and he smiled.

"I was just apologising for interrupting you. The library can get busy and-" he began, giving you an easy smile as she spoke.

"And you didn't want anyone drawing a penis on my face. Thank you for your concern," you replied, hoping that didn't sound sarcastic, but the smile remained in place.

"I'm Mike," he then added, holding out his hand rather formally, but you accepted and shook it.

"Quinn." You let go of his hand and stretched back into the chair, feeling your muscles pull, while holding back a groan at how good that felt.

"Freshman?" he asked, and you felt your brow furrow in response.

"How can you tell?" Mike's grin grew and he shook his head before responding.

"The bags under your eyes tell their own story. You pledging this week or something?" No, you weren't. You were crippled with insomnia and loneliness, and the bags under your eyes weren't from partying or hazing, but how could you possibly tell this guy that?

Thankfully, you didn't have to.

Typically, when you informed people, they gave you this look. It was a pitying look, or in some cases, one of disgust, as if it was infectious. Many would recommend things that help them get to sleep, completely misunderstanding how insomnia worked, and others would move on quickly. It was one of those things that could go either way, and you didn't want to find out which way Mike was going to respond, since he was only the third person who you had spoken to since arriving on Campus. The other was your roommate, and her friend when she wanted to know if she could sit on your bed.

What a life you were leading.

"Mike, you coming?" a voice interrupted, one unlike that you had heard before. Rather than the girl who was there earlier, this was a guy, with longish blond hair, who was looking between Mike and yourself. Mike waved his hand, signalling a moment, and turned back to you.

"Sorry, I need to go. But hey, if you're ever looking for a place to get some proper sleep, come by, we have some of the comfiest couches on campus. Don't be shy." He picked up your pen and scribbled on a stray bit of paper, before sliding both towards you, leaving you frowning.

The two of them walked away, and you tried to hide your distaste at the poor pick up line he'd given you. God only knows what he had written down, but you were curious, and taking a look, you were surprised not to see some fraternity house or dorm room number, but some obscure classroom number in what you assumed was the Communications building. You were going to have to check.

Had that all been a hallucination? If felt like it could have been one. If it wasn't for the bit of paper before you, you would have thought it was, because it felt very surreal. Chancing a look at your watch, you fought back a groan and began shoving all your things in your bag. You needed to get something to eat, and maybe afterwards you could try sleeping in your bed for a change. That would make a huge difference to the pain in your neck.

*0*0*

On one hand, it was great news, because you finally managed to get some sleep throughout the night, but on the other, you were gutted you missed Rosario Cruz's radio show. Yeah, it was available on playback online, but it didn't feel the same as when you listened to it live. The music was still good, and her voice granted you a calm you had yet to find in yourself, but since you still felt tired, still felt unrefreshed, it hardly seemed worth sleeping through the night and missing it.

The quad was so much quieter than usual, which was a godsend. You hated being surrounded by all the crowds, all the cliques and groups and friends, when you sat alone on a bench looking out. You just needed a break, a moment of fresh air before she'd having to go back to the dorm room and pretend everything was fine in front of your roommate.

Your IPod was providing some reprieve, though, with the songs of last night's radio show and Rosario Cruz's set available on demand. It was all you had in the light of day, and that was a really pathetic thought. College was meant to be fun, meant to be one of the best times of your life, so where had it all gone wrong?

That was not something you wanted to dwell on, as it would only lead to memories of your first week, the pain and agony of trying to keep up with the other students, and finding that your recovery meant you couldn't. And now you were stuck on the out looking in.

Maybe all was not lost, but it surely felt like it, and that

"Hey Quinn!" Rachel cheered, sounding particularly upbeat, which brought a smile to your lips. There was always Rachel to make you feel better.

"Hi, Rach. What's going on? I wasn't expecting to hear from you until tomorrow night." The regular Skype chats were a saving grace, and always a highlight of your week.

"That's why I'm calling, I'm not going to be able to chat tomorrow night. I have a date!" she sounded so excited, it took all your remaining willpower to be happy for her and not lash out about another lonely night ahead. You'd lashed out at Rachel enough over the years, and this time it was not her fault. She was entitled to have a life; you should have had one too, by now.

"That's great!" you replied, hoping to at least sound happy. "What's his name?" Rachel easily provided the details, practically holding the conversation herself. You would hum and make noises where necessary, but it was hard to keep the enthusiasm going when all you could think about was sitting in your empty dorm room reading or studying while your roommate was out partying.

"So, seeing as I'm not going to be around, I was thinking I could make it up to you," Rachel finished, and you blinked twice, catching on to what she was saying.

"Oh?" Your voice sounded shaky, unsure, which was ridiculous, but already you could feel a lead weight in your stomach.

"Why don't I come up this weekend? You can show me around, introduce me to your friends, and we can have a great time! It's been so long since we've properly had a chance to hang out, and I know you have to be sick of coming down to New York, so it's only fair I come up!"

Oh. Shit.

"Rach, I'm not-" you tried to cut her off, but she was on a roll, and there was just no stopping her.

"After all, you did buy me a rail pass, and I really want to put it to good use. You know I'm not one for waste, and I'd like to get the most out of it as possible. I can leave on Saturday morning, and you can meet me at the station."

"Rachel, I really-"

"I'll make sure to bring appropriate attire for any party you take us to, and I promise not to embarrass you with any stories from Lima, as long as you do the same. My date with Russell is just a test run, so I can still have some fun." No. No. No.

You could feel the blood run from your face, your lungs pick up pace, and there were suddenly spots in front of your eyes. You might have been sitting down, but you could feel your body swaying, and the phone began to slip from your grasp. Fuck. The panic was building, and you couldn't shake it off. It felt like your two worlds were going to collide, and you couldn't have that, and why did Rachel have to try and

"Hey, I'm sorry, Quinn's going to need to call you back. Thanks." "You okay?"

"Yeah," you murmured, despite shaking your head as you said so.

"You look like you're going to be sick. Here," Mike rooted around in his backpack and produced a fresh bottle of orange juice, as well as a kitkat. "I was saving these for the study session I'm heading to, but I think you need them more than I will later on."

"No, honestly, it's okay-" you began, waving your hand to fob him off.

"I insist. Please."

"You'll be late-"

"I won't leave the bench until you at least drink something, so I'll be late anyway." Mike shrugged, and you ended up smiling at his persistence. Accepting the now opened bottle from his hand, you took a drink, and then realised how thirsty you actually were.

Your phone in Mike's hand began to vibrate and he took a look at it and then flashed you the screen as you finally stopped drinking. Half the bottle was gone, and you felt a little embarrassed, but Rachel's caller ID was on screen and you knew that you needed to talk to her so she didn't freak out on you.

"Hey, sorry about that,"

"What happened? Are you okay? Who was that guy?"

"Rach, relax, I'm just not feeling very well. I'm going to go back to my dorm and rest, please don't worry." You doubt she'd be able to stop worrying, but you couldn't focus on her, you needed to ensure you had calmed yourself down, so you didn't have a repeat of that panic attack.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Rachel asked, and you did appreciate her concern.

"I'm sure, I'll text you later, okay?" You heard her agree and rattle on that she'd await your text and t

"Can I walk you back to your dorm?"

"You're going to be late for your study session."

"Please, any excuse to be a little late would be welcomed." His charming grin was enough to convince you, but then he continued, causing you to smile. "Plus, you're not going to make me become a creep and follow you back to your dorm just to make sure you're okay, are you?"

No, you weren't.

"I'm this way." Pointing,

Mike walked you back to your dorm, filling you in on his experiences as a freshman, and letting you know the things to avoid and a few tips on how to make life a little easier. You were pretty sure he was just filling the silence so you didn't feel self-conscious about the panic attack, and for that, you were thankful.

It had been a while since you'd had a proper panic attack. Sometimes at night, you'd feel the fear creeping up your spine and the dread taking over your body, but then Rosario Cruz would welcome you with her good music taste and comforting voice, and the panic would edge away.

The fact you freaked out over the mere thought of Rachel finding out you didn't have any friends was ridiculous, but to her, you were still Quinn Fabray, and you couldn't let her see the cracks in your mask. Especially not when she was gallivanting all over New York like she owned the place, fitting in with the best of them, going on dates, and enjoying life. No, you couldn't let her see what you'd become, and some how, you were going to have to keep your secret safe while not freaking the fuck out like you just had.

Speaking of...

Mike was standing with you outside your building, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks, knowing you'd spaced out on him. God, he must have thought you were such a loser. But looking at him, you didn't see judgement or confusion, you saw an understanding smile, and maybe your mask was more than just cracked. Maybe it had already fallen to pieces.

"Look, I know you don't know me, and you probably already have people, but if you ever just want to talk or hang out, come by the basement rooms in the Communications building. College can be lonely, and it can take a while to find your place. You don't need to face it all alone." You weren't sure what to say, but Mike looked like he knew that was the case, and with a parting wave, he turned and walked away.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fought the wave of emotion that had come out of nowhere, and quickly headed inside.

Only once you were back in your room, thankfully your roommate was nowhere to be seen, did you take the shaky breaths threatening to turn into sobs. He had seen right through you. He had seen the loneliness and the exclusion, and he offered you a lifeline.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, pulling you back to reality, where you could ignore the emotions between the surface. It was Rachel, she was checking you were okay, and with a quick text back, letting her know you were back and going for a nap, you kicked off your shoes.

Climbing into bed, you put your headphones in, and just hoped you'd be able to fall asleep to the sound of Rosario Cruz's set from the night before.

"Now I know some of you are going to rant and rave about this, but I don't care," Rosario began. "My airtime, my song choice. So we're going to kick things off with A Whiter Shade of Pale. For all you blessed folks out there, you know it's originally by Procol Harum, and while that version is a classic in its own right, I prefer The Box Tops version. Enjoy."

_And so it was that later_

_as the miller told his tale_

_that her face, at first just ghostly,_

_turned a whiter shade of pale_

_*0*0*_


End file.
